Madman's Love Song
by kitsunelover
Summary: Lucius thinks about the two things that he's ruined Severus Snape and the Malfoy bloodline. Angsty, slightly fluffy LMSS


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Madman's Love Song

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. Oh, to own Severus and Lucius . . . every thinking woman's fantasy. Or at least every thinking Slytherin's fantasy. *sigh*

Warning: Slash. Lucius and Severus. If you don't like it, don't read. No explicit content.

If the legendary Muggle lovers Mumtaz Mahal and Shah Jahan loved each other a fraction as much as Severus and I loved each other, then we did not love each other nearly as much as we should have.

We went to school together when I was sixteen and he only eleven. A five-year difference was not particularly conducive to a relationship at that time, but I saw certain qualities in him . . . and frankly, there weren't many Slytherins during my school years who passed through Hogwarts without developing affections for me at one point or another. The exception to Severus was his amazingly un-Slytherinlike devotion to me.

He was brilliant, mature beyond his years, diligent, exceedingly witty, and one of the most cunning men Slytherin House has ever turned out. Such praise from a Malfoy is in itself extraordinary, if I say so myself. He was also a marvelous lover, but I was not to find that out until much later. 

I saw him again in the Dark Lord's service. He was as perfect a Death Eater as he was everything else. It was then we became lovers, and for several years, I ate, drank, and breathed Severus. He was – is, I suppose - beautiful in ways that words fail to describe. Malfoys are never supposed to feel unworthy of anything, but there were times when I wondered if I was enough for him. Severus, on his part, loved me like Christianity loves its God. 

We were like to each other as beauty to truth – the two are one, and not having him was like breathing without air – futile, pointless, and painful. 

Things did not change much when I wed Narcissa. It was a marriage of convenience, as Severus and Narcissa both understood. I ensured myself an heir, and spent all the rest of my available time by Severus's side. I never tired of him; I never could. Each day that I passed beside him was like opening a rare and precious gift. His moods were variable and fascinating; his words always subtle and well chosen; his looks tantalizing and deep. 

My wife knew, of course, and I can't say that she really cared. I supplied her with a generous allowance, and her indifference was my blessing. Severus also never evinced jealousy, and I was happy in my heart of hearts.

When Draco was born, things looked so promising. He was a handsome child in the Malfoy tradition, and he enraptured Narcissa, further guaranteeing that I need trouble myself very little over her company. Severus too proclaimed him a worthy son and took on the role of favorite uncle.

I named him Draco in expectation of great things to come. But it has not been so. My son is weak, cowardly, and shallow. Apparently the Black line is not so pure as they think. Certainly his faults do not come from the Malfoy family. 

It is not too late to beget another son, one who might be worthier of the Malfoy legacy. I cannot, will not, father another son with Narcissa, though, and besides it being too unseemly for a Malfoy, I will not get a son through other means because I cannot imagine raising a child again. No matter how little I will be able to get away with concerning the child's bringing up. And then . . . I think there is no escaping the inevitable. The Malfoy family is deteriorating. Soon it will cease altogether. 

But I digress. It will be relevant, but now I shall relive Severus. Many people will find it impossible to believe, but I loved him more than it should be possible to love someone. He was my one weakness; my greatest vulnerability. As I became further involved with the Dark Lord, I realized more and more how deplorable this was. Weakness was an enemy's joy, and vulnerability was taboo in a Malfoy. 

The name of Malfoy is very important to certain people, but to the Malfoys themselves, it is everything. It is above all. Malfoys have it drilled into them practically as soon as they are born that they owe their first allegiance to the dignity of the family name. It is unheard of to disgrace the name of Malfoy.

This is because the name of Malfoy is untainted by dishonor or failure. Thus far, at least. Even passion cannot overrule a Malfoy's loyalty to the family name because this loyalty is first instinct, instilled by centuries of training. 

And it was with this instinct that I realized I loved Severus too much. 

* * *

If he had asked, I could have killed Narcissa and Draco – members of the Malfoy family. This defect was not to be tolerated. I could have betrayed the Dark Lord for him – which would have been a deadly error. 

I took stock of all I was willing to do for him and my Malfoy instincts told me it was wrong, while the rest of me screamed that it was only as it should be. 

I am not a Slytherin for nothing. I am not a Malfoy for nothing.

I told Severus that I did not love him when Draco was a year old. I laughed in his face (oh, stony, white, beloved face!) and said that he had merely been a pet – entertaining while it had lasted, but a pet nevertheless. And then I said scornfully that I had tired of him and wished to see him no more. To make my derision seem more believable, I offered him a vast quantity of money. As if he had been no more than a common whore. 

Secretly, I wanted him to take it. It had been an enormous amount of money – even by my standards – and I wanted to make up somehow for the pain I was causing him. I never harbored the delusion that he would accept it, or that it _would_ make up for it – but I felt disgustingly helpless as I watched a score of emotions flit across his face. That took barely more than two seconds. Then his lip curled contemptuously and he pointed his wand at the Galleons neatly stacked on the table and blasted them into a small pile of ash. 

While he was turning to leave, I wanted to lunge across the room and embrace him, kiss him, and love him as I had never wanted anything or ever have since. I nearly died as I watched him leave.

That night, I did not shed a single tear. Malfoys have been trained not to cry from the age of three for ages. Instead, I took a lovely ivory-handled knife that Severus had once given me (he had an affinity for knives, which I loved as I loved everything about him) and sliced open my wrists. I traced slim, scarlet trails down my tender, pale forearms, and spilled the invaluable blood of generations of Malfoys. I let my blood weep for me. I slit those blue, noble veins of mine and let the physical pain echo and cloud my emotional distress. 

Narcissa found me just in time, as I knew she would. I had not planned to die. That would have gone against the Malfoy ideals.

A private doctor was summoned to care for me, and after I was nursed back to health, Narcissa fought with me very fiercely. It was our most heated row. She never forgave me for the stay she had to endure in St. Mungo's to heal what ensued during that quarrel. I can't see why. Her face looks no different than it did before I injured it.

The whole thing was glossed over. No one else ever knew . . . 

I think that from then on, the Malfoy blood has never been quite as pure as it once was.

***

Now I am working tirelessly for the Dark Lord's cause. I suppose that is because I am throwing myself in to numb the pain that I still carry. Yes, it is weakness as well, but not as great . . . not as great.

I know very well that Severus is working for the Order. We may meet on a battlefield. I know also that he will not hesitate to kill me. I do not know if I can kill him. I have locked up his heart someplace so secure that even I cannot reach it. I have done enough to him. 

Oh, the Malfoy line is failing. 

A/N: The story of Mumtaz Mahal and Shah Jahan, empress and emperor of India long ago, says that they married for love, very uncommon in those days. Shah Jahan trusted his wife's opinions on everything from politics to art, and showered her with roses and diamonds. When she died, the heartbroken Shah Jahan built the Taj Mahal as her final resting place. It is said that his beard turned white overnight. I have always been very fond of this story, and I thought it might be appropriate.

And yes, this might be a bit OOC, but there is just such a shortage of Lucius/Severus fics that I had to write this. Hopefully it wasn't that bad. ^_^

The title of this is derived from a Sylvia Plath poem, _Mad Girl's Love Song. _The poem in its entirety runs like this:

I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead; 

I lift my lids and all is born again. 

(I think I made you up inside my head.) 

The stars go waltzing out in blue and red, 

And arbitrary blackness gallops in: 

I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead. 

I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed 

And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane. 

(I think I made you up inside my head.) 

God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade: 

Exit seraphim and Satan's men: 

I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead. 

I fancied you'd return the way you said, 

But I grow old and I forget your name. 

(I think I made you up inside my head.)

I should have loved a thunderbird instead; 

At least when spring comes they roar back again. 

I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead. 

(I think I made you up inside my head.)

Reviews welcomed and encouraged.


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